


once

by cptsdstars



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Tw bloody Johnny boy, actually just everything is implied, heavily implied Arthur/Abigail, no child abuse tw for once wow, therapy must be working for me, today we explore abigail’s borderline, tw blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:28:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27483481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cptsdstars/pseuds/cptsdstars
Summary: “I know he’s fine.” She says, “I just don’t know if he’s planning on comin’ back.”How could you forget, you monster. A voice says inside his head, he hates it.“Abigail…” Arthur mutters, squeezing her hand in his.“Please.” Her voice barely comes out louder than the crackle of the fire behind Arthur; he can feel her say it more than he can hear her. “Not again.”
Relationships: Abigail Roberts Marston/Arthur Morgan, Abigail Roberts Marston/John Marston, Abigail Roberts Marston/John Marston/Arthur Morgan, John Marston/Arthur Morgan
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	once

**Author's Note:**

> I’m back, I’m replaying the game, what are you gonna do about it.

It’s cold. 

It’s so damn cold, Arthur can feel it crawling up through his teeth and into his chest and his fingers almost hurt too much to move. 

He steps outside, planning to head for the biggest cabin where he knows the fire will be bigger, where he can say good morning to the girls, grab some watery coffee, and pretend not to think about the fact that it’s May 5th. 

May fucking 5th, and he’s walking through two feet of snow. 

The fire is already running low in the big cabin, three of the girls huddled too close to want to add more kindling. Arthur walks over and throws another log on before attempting to warm his hands up. 

“Hello, Arthur,” Abigail says in a way that twists Arthur’s stomach into a knot. Something’s wrong. 

“Abigail,” he says, preparing for the worst.

“Arthur…” she stands, rests her gentle hands at the small of his back and leads him away from the prying ears of the women. Leads him back into a corner of the cabin. 

“How you doing?” she asks. 

Arthur swallows down his racing heart. 

“Just fine Abigail… and you?” 

Her hands fall away from him, resting guilty at her sides. 

“I need you to…” 

Arthur breathes out a little more harshly than he means to, the spark of an old argument catching against the static between Abigail’s fingers. She immediately curls those fingers into a fist, irritated.

“I’m- I’m sorry!” She doesn’t sound sorry, Arthur thinks. “I’m sorry to ask but—“

“It’s little John.” The words come out of Arthur’s mouth with more venom than he intended them to, and he’d regret them if Abigail, god bless her, wasn’t just as hot headed as he was. Her brows furrow and it fuels a secret frustration Arthur only ever lets her see. 

“He’s got himself caught into a scrape again, huh?” 

Abigail grabs his wrist with a lot more force than she looks like she has, “He ain’t been seen in two—“ she cuts herself off, realizing they aren’t alone, the girls are watching them. Hosea is watching them, she lets go of his hand. 

“...Two days.” Her voice breaks.

“Your John will be fine,” Arthur spits back, and the look of genuine heartbreak in Abigail’s eyes causes him to lose his composure for a moment and clench his teeth.

“Since when is he only mine?” Her reply is nothing more than the faintest whisper, something even Arthur would’ve missed had he not been watching her so intently. 

Her boldness to bring that up in front of the girls, in front of Hosea, only bubbles more anger up from his fingertips into his words. 

“I mean, he may be as dumb as rocks and as dull as a rusted iron but that ain’t changing because he got caught in some snowstorm!” Abigail takes a step back. Arthur hates himself. 

“At least go take a look,” Hosea says. Arthur is more upset that he’s been listening to their conversation than he is about the suggestion. 

“Take Javier with you, you’re the two most fit men we’ve got.”

Abigail looks down at her feet, Arthur takes her hand. 

“He’s fine.” He whispers, Javier starts talking loudly to Hosea. 

Abigail quickly wipes her eyes with the back of her gloved hand. 

“I know he’s fine.” She says, “I just don’t know if he’s planning on comin’ back.” 

_How could you forget, you monster._ A voice says inside his head, he hates it. 

“Abigail…” Arthur mutters, squeezing her hand in his.

“Please.” Her voice barely comes out louder than the crackle of the fire behind Arthur; he can feel her say it more than he can hear her. “Not again.” 

Arthur manages to pull her into the farthest corner of the cabin, on to a cot where Jack already sits wrapped in a blanket. His little eyes watch his momma carefully as Arthur sits her panicked form down next to him on the cot. 

Arthur kneels down in front of Abigail and puts her hands on his chest, forcing her to feel his slow, calm breathing. 

It’s not a foreign sight to a lot of the gang’s older members, and Arthur knows word of John’s newest disappearance is all but known to everyone by now. 

But he’s focused on Abigail: shaky, terrified Abigail. 

“What did he say to you?” Arthur whispers. 

Tears start to pour out of Abigail’s terrified eyes, her hands curl into fists against the cloth of Arthur’s jacket. 

“Dutch killed a girl,” she whispers. “She weren’t much older than Jack.” She shuts her eyes. “John told me a little bit before Dutch sent him out scouting. It wasn’t like Dutch at all, Arthur. It scared John real bad.” 

Arthur brushes some tears off of Abigail’s cheekbones. “That boy spooks like a deaf horse.” 

“I’m scared he…” She trails off, she doesn’t need to finish her sentence. 

“I’ll find him,” Arthur promises. 

Abigail nods and Arthur is back out in the cold wind once again, silently preparing for the worst. 

But the worst he could come up with wasn’t nearly as bad as the reality he and Javier come toe to toe with. 

At the top of the mountain, where the air is thin and the temperature is grinding against Arthur’s teeth, they find John’s horse. 

Torn apart, half eaten by wolves. 

Arthur’s stomach drops off the side of the mountain and it takes every ounce of self control he has inside of him not to follow it down. 

“Let’s see if he can hear us, huh?” Javier says, and before Arthur can even really comprehend what he might be saying, Javier takes his pistol and fires three shots into the air. 

It echos around them for a moment, threatening to break the new layer of snow hanging precariously to the sides of the rocks. 

“Hey! Help!” It’s faint. But oh, Arthur can hear it. 

“It’s coming from this way!” Javier shouts over the wind. Arthur’s already halfway there. 

They have to leave the horses, Javier thinks John is out on a ledge somewhere, and Arthur can’t feel his toes. 

The walk towards John feels like it takes years, Arthur’s mind racing a mile a minute, praying to anyone who’s listening that he’s still in one piece. For Abigail’s sake at least. 

The longer he treads through the snow the tighter his muscles contract, the cold biting through every layer of clothing he has. He can’t imagine John is faring much better. 

Javier shouts for John again. There’s no response.

Panic starts to rush through the frozen-over veins in Arthur’s hands as he pulls himself up rock faces and slides along ice patches. 

“John!” Arthur shouts. Javier hears the panic behind it. 

“Slow down, amigo. We’ll find him.” 

Every muscle in Arthur’s body aches. Either from panic or the cold or from walking under frozen boulders he ain’t sure. 

Not even god himself could stop him from finding John now, though. 

“John can you hear me?” Javier shouts, they’re slowing down now. 

“John, where are you?” Arthur shouts, “John!” 

Javier stops in a clearing, Arthur behind him. The weight on Arthur’s own knees threatening to collapse him right then and there. 

_You’re too late_ the voice says. 

As if in response, a voice, from down the cliffside, “Over here! Out on the ledge!” 

_John._

“We’re coming!” Javier shouts, Arthur’s already running towards the ledge filled with relief and happiness and just a little bit of annoyance. 

Scaring the hell out of Abigail, making him walk through the coldest day of his entire damn life. John better be dying. 

“Down here!” John shouts again, “Over here!”

“Alright!” Arthur says, practically above John. “Pipe down, Marston!”

As soon as Arthur leans over the edge, he forgets all about how annoyed he was. 

“That’s quite a scratch you got there.” 

_God, John, are you ok?_

“Never thought I’d say this but, it’s good to see you Arthur.”

_I thought I was gonna die._

Arthur hops down the ledge without any hesitation and kneels in front of John’s bloody mangled face. 

Blood stains the snow around him, one of his eyes is almost swollen shut, his left leg is sitting at a funny angle and the piece of cloth wrapped around the bullet wound from Blackwater which seemed so damn long ago was frozen on to the open sore. 

Arthur gently touches one of the gashes on his cheeks, it’s deep, still rather fresh. John looks at him like he’s going to pass out at any moment. 

“You don’t look too good,” Arthur says. 

_I’m so glad you’re alive,_ he means. 

“I don’t feel too good neither,” John tries to laugh in response. 

_I thought I was gonna die._

Arthur wraps his arms gently around John’s waist. He’s met with a sharp inhale, makes sure he’s not going to hurt John, then lifts him up back over the cliff. 

John shouts in pain as he’s manhandled up over the ledge. Arthur laughs, “Don’t you die just yet, cowboy.” 

_I got you, John._

They manage to wrangle him onto the back of Arthur’s borrowed horse, get rid of the wolf pack that wanted to finish John off so badly, and start making their way back to the warmth of their makeshift camp. 

Arthur tries not to think about the warmth of John’s blood spilling on his clothes and instead thanks the howling wind for the chance to talk to John away from Javier’s prying ears. 

“Is Abbi mad?” John says against Arthur’s shoulder. 

“‘Course she’s mad, she’s Abigail,” Arthur says, holding John’s hand tighter against his waist. 

John does something that could be a laugh, “I don’t wanna die with her mad at me.”

“You ain’t gonna die, Marston. Don’t be dramatic.” Arthur says, though he ain’t too sure of it either. 

“Thanks for coming for me. Didn’t think you would.”

“It’s not that we knew you were in trouble,” Arthur says, double checking that Javier can’t hear them over the wind and the sound of the horses, “She just couldn’t have you up and running again.” 

“I wasn’t running”

“She don’t know that.” 

“I’m sorry.” John says. It’s sincere. His cold hand squeezes what it can against Arthur’s waist and he leans his bloody face back up against his shoulder. 

Arthur don’t mind as long as he can still feel him breathing. 

_Do you forgive him yet?_

  
  
  
  



End file.
